Louse: A Novel

Rating:
Summary: If Pynchon could still write a good book, this might be it
Review: Louse reads like Don Delillo, James Ellroy, David Foster Wallace and Terry Gilliam all wrote a novel together--and it worked absolutely perfectly, allowing the best parts of each of them to shine. Louse is based loosely on the last days of Howard Hughes, when the man has completely lost himself to his obsession with hygiene and mania for absolute power, locked himself in the penthouse of his own casino and surrounded himself with troops of supposedly absolutely loyal servants. Louse is the most perfect combination of maverick originality, obvious intelligence, and entertaining storytelling in a novel in a long, long time.

Rating:
Summary: Lackluster "Louse"
Review: Some books are earthshattering. Some change people's lives. And some are just ink on paper, not actually formulating into an engaging story. "Louse," unfortunately, is one of the third kinds of books. Failing to evoke anything at all, it ends up being as sterile and dull as the penthouse.

Herbert Horatio Blackwell is a reclusive, eccentric mogul who hides away from the world (and germs) in a carefully sterilized penthouse atop a casino. He employs and controls compulsive gamblers, who pay off their debts by sacrificing their long-term memories and becoming his devoted slaves. One of these is his manservant Herman Louse.

In the detached little community of G, Louse encounters a subversive element. This is a problem, since he has been brainwashed into subservience. But as he tries to ignore the conspiracy brewing around him, he inadvertantly gets drawn into it.

"Louse" does pretty well in concept, with its bizarre otherworldly setting, strange characters and robotic civilization. It's hard to tell if this surreal setting is even in our world. And the concept of a "king" who controls people is always a winner, especially if there's a twist. In concept, at least, David Grand cannot be faulted.

The problem with "Louse"? Unlike Kafka, it fails to evoke any emotional response at all. Kafka could evoke horror, misery and despair. Grand can't do that. It's arguable that this is deliberate, a reflection of the sterile life that Louse and the others are leading, but there's no emotion in scenes like Louse's flashbacks, or near the end. Everything is painfully clinical and detached, even when some kind of vividity is called for.

The dialogue is almost as bad. The characters tend to exchange short, random sentences that sound like Hemingway on acid. The descriptions are uneven and minimal, and most of the supporting characters have only a few words to describe them physically or mentally. This is not so bad, because virtually all of them speak and seem to think alike.

Blackwell is hard to take seriously, since he's so obviously a copy of Howard Hughes (the lives of his parents, his movies, planes, and phobia about bacteria). Louse isn't a particularly engaging narrator -- one of the problems with a narrator who feels nothing is that the reader then feels nothing. Supporting characters are similarly two-dimensional.

"Louse" has an unengaging title and an unexciting storyline. Not recommended for those who like even a spark of inspiration in their book reading.

Rating:
Summary: Lackluster "Louse"
Review: Some books are earthshattering. Some change people's lives. And some are just ink on paper, not actually formulating into an engaging story. "Louse," unfortunately, is one of the third kinds of books. Failing to evoke anything at all, it ends up being as sterile and dull as the penthouse.

Herbert Horatio Blackwell is a reclusive, eccentric mogul who hides away from the world (and germs) in a carefully sterilized penthouse atop a casino. He employs and controls compulsive gamblers, who pay off their debts by sacrificing their long-term memories and becoming his devoted slaves. One of these is his manservant Herman Louse.

In the detached little community of G, Louse encounters a subversive element. This is a problem, since he has been brainwashed into subservience. But as he tries to ignore the conspiracy brewing around him, he inadvertantly gets drawn into it.

"Louse" does pretty well in concept, with its bizarre otherworldly setting, strange characters and robotic civilization. It's hard to tell if this surreal setting is even in our world. And the concept of a "king" who controls people is always a winner, especially if there's a twist. In concept, at least, David Grand cannot be faulted.

The problem with "Louse"? Unlike Kafka, it fails to evoke any emotional response at all. Kafka could evoke horror, misery and despair. Grand can't do that. It's arguable that this is deliberate, a reflection of the sterile life that Louse and the others are leading, but there's no emotion in scenes like Louse's flashbacks, or near the end. Everything is painfully clinical and detached, even when some kind of vividity is called for.

The dialogue is almost as bad. The characters tend to exchange short, random sentences that sound like Hemingway on acid. The descriptions are uneven and minimal, and most of the supporting characters have only a few words to describe them physically or mentally. This is not so bad, because virtually all of them speak and seem to think alike.

Blackwell is hard to take seriously, since he's so obviously a copy of Howard Hughes (the lives of his parents, his movies, planes, and phobia about bacteria). Louse isn't a particularly engaging narrator -- one of the problems with a narrator who feels nothing is that the reader then feels nothing. Supporting characters are similarly two-dimensional.

"Louse" has an unengaging title and an unexciting storyline. Not recommended for those who like even a spark of inspiration in their book reading.

Rating:
Summary: Whatever, and I mean that in a good way
Review: This book doesn't describe alienation - it is alienation. Fromcharacters who become familiar and yet are still nondescript to a plotthat unfolds but doesn't involve, reading Louse is like watching life go by from your window. If you want to read a better book in a similar vein, read The Physiognomy by Jeffrey Ford, which manages to both draw compelling characters and make a wide ranging commentary on modern life.